Page 144 of The Thief and the Traitor Bride

Nore lay on the floor of her apartment, in one of her oldest shirts (which, truthfully, might’ve once belonged to Caspian), with her wet hair spilled out over the rug. She curled up in a ball with Grimsby purring angrily in front of her, stroking the cat’s fur as she thought, mostly ignoring it as the cat bit her every few minutes.

“Finch,” Sparrow said from the window, hesitating when they saw the bare expanse of Nore’s legs. They raised an eyebrow. “My apologies. Are you decent?”

Nore sat up, crossing her legs. “I’m clothed, if that’s what you mean,” she said dryly. She watched as Sparrow placed a packet on her table, probably thick with bills to replace whatever stock she’d used in Idistra. “You have a lot of modesty for someone who has surprised me in the bath on more than one occasion.”

Sparrow pressed their lips together. “It would be easier,” they said, “if you were not so often in the bath.”

“Excuses,” Nore said. She watched as Grimsby leaped up on the couch and hissed at Sparrow. She would, perhaps, need to give Kota a raise for taking care of the mercurial cat in Nore’s absence.

“I imagine you’re not just here for the company,” Nore said. She stood and went to her bedroom, getting a dressing gown to pull over her shirt. She wondered where Celestine had found Sparrow, what they were working for. What Caspian knew that she did not. She hadn’t stopped thinking about it since their discussion, trying to piece together what Celestine’s spies had to gain—or risked to lose.

“She wants to see you,” Sparrow said.

“When?” Nore asked, preparing to clear her schedule. Kota had given her an updated list of meetings when Nore had picked up Grimsby that afternoon.

“Now.”

That was a surprise—Celestine rarely demanded her attention urgently. Urgency was noticeable. Urgency, if handled poorly, could expose her.

Panic rose in her stomach. She did not know what to do—she had not yet figured out a plan, nor decided yet if she was brave enough to execute one in the first place. “Now?”

“Preferably dressed,” Sparrow said primly.

Nore rolled her eyes. “Two minutes.” She sighed. She went back into her bedroom and pulled on one of her charcoal-gray wool dresses and found a pin for her damp hair. She hesitated a moment—then she found and slipped on a heavy necklace, liberated from her still-packed trunk. Sparrow waited while she found socks and laced her boots and put on her coat.

“Can you give me any information?” Nore asked as she locked her door and tucked her key ring in her pocket.

Sparrow leveled her a look. “Your reports, Finch,” they said. “Her highness wants to hear it from you.”

Nore gritted her teeth. She’d suspected as much, but usually she had time to prepare her reports after her missions, and she’d only just returned a few hours before. “Very well.”

To her surprise, Sparrow’s carriage did not take them to a safe house or to Celestine’s home. Instead, they went into the heart of the city, to the prison. When Nore realized, her heart thudded with cold, uneasy dread.

“Why here?” Nore asked.

“She would like a collaborative report,” Sparrow said, but they did not explain exactly what they meant. Nore feared that she knew.

They came to a stop in front of the gates. She was ushered in by one of Celestine’s trusted guards and led down into an interrogation room. The duchess was already there, waiting alone in the dim light. Nore’s stomach twisted again as she thought of the prison she had only just been released from—perhaps she had misread; perhaps this was not going to be an easy discussion and release; perhaps Tern had told Celestine about how he’d caught Nore, and this wasn’t about Caspian at all.

But the duchess stood, moving toward Nore as she entered. “Finch,” she said warmly, gripping Nore’s arms as she moved closer. The duchess leaned in, kissing Nore on both cheeks. She looked fresh as always, and today she wore a silk gown in pale pink, darkening to bloody red at the hem. “How was your journey back? Not too taxing?”

Nore curtsied to the duchess, a show of respect, and sat in the chair she indicated. “It was swift,” she said, fighting to keep her tone level. “And Captain Tern was good company, as always.”

“I’d hoped so,” Celestine said, folding her hands in front of her. “I’d also hoped, if you deigned to take one of my spies to bed, you would’ve chosen more wisely. Tern would’ve been a more suitable alternative for many reasons.”

Nore mirrored the duchess’s posture, her hands laid out on the table. “I thought your message was quite clear,” Nore said, feigning surprise, “that I was meant to eliminate distractions as I saw fit.”

The duchess raised an eyebrow. Nore smiled back.

There was a knock on the door, three quick raps. “Come in,” the duchess said, barely raising her voice, never taking her eyes off Nore. Nore knew, deep in her stomach, that whatever her face showed—the duchess would see. Celestine would know.

Nore did not let a glimpse of her feelings show on her face. She did not flinch when the door opened, when the two guards came in with Caspian between them. She did not look, even though she heard his labored breathing and knew something was wrong. Celestine watched her until the shuffling stopped, until they had Caspian positioned in the chair and strapped in for whatever the duchess wanted to do to him.

“Finch,” Celestine said. “Aren’t you going to say hello to your husband?”

“Hello, Mr. Khari,” Nore said, not breaking Celestine’s gaze.

He coughed. There was a noise of fabric, a gag being removed. Then his voice, thick with blood. “Well met, Ms. Gordon.”